The mountain brook has long gone dry
The trees that sprinkled flowers have gone dry
The grass the blades have since gone dry
The fallen leaf in my balcony has gone dry
The Rosemary strand you planted has gone dry
The balm that heals my pain has gone dry
The cigarette lighter lit up last and went dry
The moss on the walls below has gone dry
The pillow covers soaked in tears are dry
The blood on my kitchen knife has gone dry
The blood splattered on the walls are dry
The breath I inhale has long gone dry
The soul that yearned for your touch is now dry
The will to live another day has gone dry
The sliced salted tomatoes on my sill are dry
This very existence of me sans you is so dry
I could call it a desert, yet deserts have cacti
I am left with thorns, that get worse as they dry
They hurt more each moment as time runs dry
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